The Perfect Pantry

Dumpling wrappers (Recipe: vegetable dumplings)

'Tis the season of gift-giving, and for a few days last week my huge dining table vanished under sheets of tissue and ribbons and rolls of wrapping paper, waiting to turn books and toys into adventures and surprises.

In the kitchen, too, even the humblest ingredients take on elegance and mystery when they're wrapped.

Store-bought fresh dumpling wrappers, a staple in my pantry, make it easy to add drama to everyday cooking.

Made primarily of wheat flour and water, round dumpling wrappers (also called siu mai skins or gyoza skins) are thinner than wonton skins (small squares) or eggroll wrappers (large squares or rectangles); they're meant to be stuffed and steamed, pan-fried as potstickers, or cooked in soup, but not deep-fried.

Dumpling wrappers are easy to make, but I buy them fresh at my local Asian market. You can find them at any supermarket, too, in the produce aisle. If you're shopping in the Boston area, you might see something called "Peking ravioli wrappers" in the market. Joyce Chen, a famous chef and restaurant owner who brought authentic Chinese cooking to Boston in the 1960s, coined the term "Peking ravioli" to help explain potstickers to the restaurant's Italian neighborhood, and the name stuck.

Keep dumpling wrappers in the freezer, and bring them to room temperature before using. Fill your dumplings with anything you like; try pre-packaged cole slaw vegetables (carrots and celery), mixed with shredded cooked chicken and some bottled peanut sauce. Or stuff the dumplings Indian-style, with curried tofu, peas and carrots. Make a few at a time, or make a lot and freeze them.

For a super-quick weeknight dinner (ready in just 10 minutes), add frozen homemade dumplings directly to boiling soup stock, with some chopped vegetables or greens. I did that last week, and created a new family favorite; frozen chicken-cabbage dumplings, leftover baby spinach, and homemade chicken stock seasoned with low-sodium soy sauce and black pepper made a wonderful dinner for Ted and me.

VEGETABLE DUMPLINGS (FOR POTSTICKERS OR SOUP)
Vary this filling to include leftover shredded cooked chicken, chopped shrimp (cooked or uncooked), or veggies of your choice. Makes 16; can be doubled and cooked in batches.

10 dried shiitake mushrooms
1 bunch cilantro, leaves chopped (optional)
1 clove garlic, crushed
1/2-inch piece of fresh ginger root, peeled, finely chopped
2 scallions, chopped
1 green chile (jalapeño, serrano, Thai — depends on how hot you like it), seeded and chopped
1/4 cup peeled and grated daikon radish
1 medium carrot, peeled and grated
1/2 red bell pepper, seeded, finely chopped (about 1/2 cup)
1/2 cup firm or extra-firm tofu, patted dry, chopped into 1/8-inch squares
1/4 cup smooth peanut butter
2 Tbsp dark soy sauce
16 round fresh dumpling wrappers
1 Tbsp peanut oil
1 cup vegetable or low-sodium or homemade chicken stock

Put the dried mushrooms in a bowl, cover with warm water, and let soak for 30 minutes until softened. Drain, reserving the soaking liquid, and chop mushrooms finely.

Put the mushrooms in a large bowl and add cilantro, garlic, ginger, scallions, chiles, daikon, carrots, bell pepper, and tofu. Stir to combine.

Mix peanut butter and soy sauce in a small bowl, and stir into the vegetable mixture.

Put 1 dumpling wrapper on a dry work surface and put 1 level Tbsp of filling in the center. With your finger or a pastry brush, paint the edge with water and fold into a half-moon shape, pleating one side 3-5 times as you go (or use a dumpling press). Place on a tray lined with wax paper, flattening the bottom of the dumpling as you do.
While assembling the dumplings, keep the stack of wrappers moist by covering them with a damp towel. Repeat with remaining wrappers and filling, covering the also tray with a damp towel as each dumpling is completed.

TO MAKE AS POTSTICKERS: Heat a large nonstick skillet, and brush with 1 tsp of oil. Add as many dumplings as you can (hopefully all of them!) without overcrowding. Saute for 2-3 minutes until browned on the bottom (do not flip them).

Mix the reserved mushroom liquid with the stock and pour half of it over the dumplings until partly covered (use more if needed). Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, cover the pan, and cook 8-10 minutes, until the liquid is absorbed and the dumplings are slightly translucent.

TO MAKE IN SOUP: Bring desired amount of stock (vegetable or chicken stock) to a boil. Reduce to low heat, and carefully add desired number of dumplings to the pot. Cook 3-4 minutes, and serve hot.

Fenugreek (Recipe: saag paneer)

I love spring cleaning.

In my house, spring cleaning gets underway not in April or May, but when there's a snowstorm, the kind that strands me at the end of our uphill driveway while I wait for extrication by the plow guy. This winter, we've seen only a few random snowflakes, but a recent heavy rain triggered the urge to get the cleanout started.

My favorite thing about spring cleaning is that I find stuff. Hidden stuff. Long-lost stuff. Forgotten stuff. Last week, I found:

• The Food of India, a lovely cookbook that still bears its Costco sale sticker (I lose all self-control in the under-$10 cookbook aisle). It was on the bottom of a pile of books on the floor next to my bed, along with Bill Buford's Heat, some books about art, and a trashy legal thriller or two.

• A jar of fenugreek seeds, misplaced three layers deep in the back of the spice rack behind the cinnamon and nutmeg.

Though fenugreek is popular in the cuisines of Ethiopia and Egypt, Turkey, Armenia and Yemen, it's curry — and curiosity — that brought fenugreek to my pantry. Indian cooking is not my forte; I'm much more comfortable poking around in the cuisines of other parts of Asia. So I'm learning, and starting to stock my Indian pantry.

Fenugreek seeds, which look a bit like kibble, come from a plant in the bean family, native to western Asia and southeastern Europe. A key ingredient in Indian pickles and chutneys, fenugreek's aroma is actually what we think of as the aroma of hot curry and vindaloo blends; a poor-quality curry will smell harsh if it contains too much fenugreek.

An essential ingredient of panch phoron, the Indian five-spice powder, as well as Ethiopian berbere, fenugreek pairs well with fish, legumes, potatoes and tomatoes. Dry-roasting the seeds just slightly gives them a nutty, somewhat maple-sugar taste; in fact, fenugreek is used in the commercial production of artificial maple syrup. You can steep the seeds in hot water to make a tea, or grind roasted seeds and infuse as a coffee substitute.

In ancient times, fenugreek was heralded as both an aphrodisiac and a cure for baldness. In the modern kitchen, it's a cure for blandness.

SAAG PANEER
Paneer (cheese) is easy to make at home, and even easier to buy in an Indian market. Or, you can substitute extra-firm tofu in this recipe from The Food of India, by Priya Wickramasinghe and Carol Selva Rajah. Serves 4.

1 lb spinach leaves or baby spinach
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp fenugreek seeds
1 Tbsp canola oil
1 red onion, thinly sliced
5 garlic cloves, chopped
7 oz canned chopped tomatoes
3/4 inch piece of fresh ginger, grated
1 tsp garam masala
8 oz paneer (or extra-firm tofu), cubed

Blanch the spinach leaves in boiling water for 2 minutes, then refresh in cold water, drain, and very finely chop. Place a small frying pan over low heat and dry-roast the cumin until aromatic. Remove, dry-roast the coriander, then the fenugreek.

Heat the oil in a heavy frying pan over low heat, and fry the onion, garlic, cumin, coriander and fenugreek until grown and aromatic. Stir in the tomato, ginger and garam masala, and bring to the boil. Add spinach and cook until the liquid has reduced. Fold in the paneer (or tofu), trying to keep it in whole pieces. Stir gently until heated through. Season with salt, to taste.

Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (Recipe: risotto with grapefruit)

Just when we've all gotten our heads around the notion of eating locally, I'm here to tell you not to do it.

Not when it comes to cheese.

Not unless you live in Italy, in the small towns around Modena, Parma, Reggio-Emilia, and parts of Bologna and Mantova — the only part of the world where authentic Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese is produced by the 482 members of the Consorzio del Formaggio Parmigiano Reggiano.

Founded in 1934, the Consorzio developed high standards for the cheese produced under its auspices, and every wheel of cheese that bears the Consorzio's seal of approval has been inspected several times to ensure that the cheese is of the highest quality. The cheesemaking process is fascinating, labor-intensive, and exacting.

From Zingerman's Guide to Good Eating, I learned that for centuries what we know as Parmigiano-Reggiano was simply the local cheese. In Parma it was known as "Parmigiano", in Reggio "Reggiano", and in Lodi, "Lodigiano". When cooks in Parma would go into a store to buy a couple of pounds of Parmigiano-Reggiano, they'd just order "a kilo of cheese". (No need to ask which cheese!)

The Consorzio has kept production small, yet economically viable. It takes 16 liters of milk to make one kilo of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, and the average Parmigiano-Reggiano dairy makes only eight wheels of cheese a day. Even at 60 pounds a wheel, that's less than 500 pounds of cheese per day, about the same level of production as a small American cheesemaking farm.

Parmigiano-Reggiano is a medium-fat, dry cheese with a rich, sharp flavor. Made from skimmed or partially skimmed cow's milk, it has a hard, pale-golden rind and a straw-colored, somewhat grainy interior. Don't buy cheese without the rind, unless you see it hand-cut off a wheel that's stamped with the telltale dotted Parmigiano-Reggiano seal of identification.

Before you bring home a piece of Parmigiano-Reggiano, find out its birthday. No kidding: each wheel is stamped with the month and year the cheese was made, and timing is everything; each season creates cheese with different qualities.

Summer cheese is more golden, because the cows are eating fresh grass, and it's said to be best for making pesto because it is the most sharp in flavor; spring cheese is drier because the milk at that time of year has less butterfat, and the cheese is harder to cut. Autumn cheese, the most balanced in flavor with a higher butterfat content, is the best for eating as is. Ask for cheese that's been aged through at least two summers. In summer, the cheese sweats, expelling excess moisture and concentrating the flavor.

When you do get your cheese home, you'll find a thousand uses for it, from shaving it on top of salads, to drizzling bite-sized chunks with honey for dessert — and don't forget indispensable pesto, fabulous lasagna, and soup made with the parm rind.

RISOTTO AI POMPELMO (Risotto with grapefruit)
Sounds weird, I know, but this is truly delicious. As always with risotti, make sure each individual ingredient is the best you can find. Adapted from Risotto, by Judith Barrett. Serves 4 as a first course.

7 cups chicken or vegetable stock, homemade or low-sodium storebought
2 Tbsp unsalted butter
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 small leek, white part only, finely chopped (approx. 1/2 cup)
3 Tbsp finely chopped celery
2 cups Arborio or Carnaroli rice
1-1/3 cups grapefruit juice, warmed (juice of 1 whole grapefruit)
1 Tbsp unsalted butter
1/4 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1-1/2 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
8 grapefruit sections, diced

Bring broth to a steady simmer. Warm grapefruit juice in the microwave. In a heavy casserole, heat butter and oil over moderate heat. Add leek and celery, and sauté 1-2 minutes, until the leek begins to soften but not brown. Add rice and stir, using a wooden spoon, for a minute to coat all the grains with the oil. Add the grapefruit juice and stir until completely absorbed. Begin to add the simmering broth, 1/2 cup at a time, reserving 1/4 cup to add at the end. After approximately 18 minutes, when the rice is tender but still firm, add reserved broth. Turn off the heat and immediately add remaining butter, cheese and parsley, and stir vigorously to combine with the rice. Serve immediately, garnished with diced grapefruit.

Bittersweet chocolate (Recipe: truffles)

Remember the old days, when take-out coffee came in small, medium and large ... and chocolate came in Hershey bars, Toll House chips, and unsweetened Baker's that you were never, ever supposed to eat but was only for baking?

Bye bye, old days.

High-quality chocolate is everywhere. The small market in my rural Rhode Island village — not exactly a hotbed of nouveau anything — now displays bars of organic bittersweet chocolate next to the cash register, right there with the tabloids, horoscope booklets, beef jerky and breath mints.

Hello, infinite possibilities.

Cocoa grows in tropical regions, primarily in Ecuador, Brazil, Mexico, West Africa, and Malaysia. Each cocoa pod contains cocoa butter and chocolate liquor (solids). Bittersweet (also called dark) chocolate is the liquor, to which sweeteners and some cocoa butter have been added. According to US government standards, to be called bittersweet chocolate must contain at least 35% chocolate liquor (in Britain, the minimum is 43%). The best chocolates contain 70% or more chocolate solids; the higher the percentage, the more deep the flavor. 

[Here's a fun way to teach children about chocolate and vanilla: Buy some artisan chocolate truffles or chocolate bars from different countries (easiest to do at a specialty shop, but most high-quality bar chocolate has the country of origin printed on the label). Spread a large world map on your dining table or countertop. Give each child a stickie and one of the chocolates, and ask him or her to place the stickie on the country where the chocolate is grown. Then, do the same with vanilla, using a different color stickie. Have everyone put a finger on the Equator, and look at where the stickies are in relation to the fingers. You'll see that all of the cocoa is grown in bands just a few degrees north or south of the Equator, and that vanilla is grown in bands closer to 20 degrees latitude. You'll definitely have an "aha" moment!]

I'm happy to report that bittersweet chocolate is good for you, too. (I hope my doctor is reading this.) Eating two ounces (50 grams) a day of bittersweet chocolate with a minimum content of 70% chocolate solids may help protect against heart disease and high blood pressure, and provides some iron, calcium and potassium, vitamins A, B1, C, D, and E. Dark chocolate contains a good dose of antioxidants, but at a whopping high calorie price of 531 calories per four-ounce portion.

King Arthur Flour sells several top brands of chocolate, in bars and baking nibs, including Callebaut, Merckens, Scharffen Berger and Valrhona. For the money, though, the best buy has to be Trader Joe's, where a one-pound-plus bar of bittersweet Belgian chocolate sells for just $6.99, less than half the price of the "name" brands. If well-wrapped in aluminum foil, and stored in a cool dry place with good air circulation, bittersweet chocolate will keep for several years — though it would never last that long in my house.

According to The Gourmet Atlas, chocolate has "a more feminine character than coffee, perhaps because when it was first brought to Spain it was often prepared by nuns and drunk by upper-class Spanish ladies." I never thought of it in that way, but it surely explains chocolate's affinity for the presumably more "male" coffee, as in Chocolate Coffee Cake, Mocha Pudding with Espresso Creme, Coffee Buttercream Cupcakes, and truffles.

CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES
There's still time to make these elegant treats for the holidays, as the actual working time is less than 15 minutes. A small size quick-release ice cream scoop, called a disher in restaurant kitchens, makes easy work of forming the truffles. Inspired by a recipe in Ina Garten's Barefoot in Paris. Makes 20 truffles.

5 oz bittersweet chocolate
2 oz milk chocolate
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tsp prepared coffee
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract

Optional toppings: cocoa powder, confectioner's sugar, chopped walnuts, chopped pistachios

Cut the chocolate into fine pieces (a serrated knife works well for this), and place in a large heat-proof bowl. In a small saucepan, scald the cream, and pour it over the chocolate. Stir with a whisk until the chocolate melts and is smooth and glistening. Stir in the coffee and vanilla. (You've just made a ganache!) Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and chill for at least one hour.

Place each desired topping in a small bowl or on a rimmed plate. With a small ice cream scoop, or two spoons, scrape off small blobs of the chilled ganache and form into rounds. They should be somewhat irregular and look like something a pig would sniff out of the ground (which, of course, is how chocolate truffles got their name). Gently roll each blob in one of the toppings, and place on a clean plate lined with parchment paper. Refrigerate for at least an hour, or longer. Serve slightly chilled.

Marmalade (Recipe: beer marinade)

I didn't grow up in a marmalade house.

In fact, apart from JIF peanut butter and Smuckers grape jelly, I don't remember seeing any jams, jellies, preserves or marmalades in my mother's kitchen. Oh, I know that she had the occasional souvenir jar stashed in the back of the cupboard — a homemade treasure brought by a houseguest or friend who'd returned from a road trip to a part of the country where every family "puts things up", and recipes are prized. But I don't think we ever opened them.

My friends grew up in marmalade houses.

Barbara does a great lime preserve, and fig jam, and all sorts of things made from the dozens of varieties of berries she grows on her organic farm in southeastern Massachusetts. Mary makes quince jam from the fruits in her garden. Pauline creates amazing things with rhubarb, as does Lucia with blueberries picked on local Rhode Island farms. Wonderful and delicious, each and every one of these culinary treats.

And yet, surrounded by so much availability and generous friends, my own house still is not a marmalade house.

I always stock orange marmalade in my pantry, but I know so little about preserving fruit that I had to look up the definitions of jam, jelly, preserve, and marmalade. What's the difference? Aren't they all just sticky concoctions, made with fruit and some sort of goo to hold the fruit in suspension?

In part, the difference seems to be degree of density. According to The Food Lover's Companion, jelly is a clear, bright mixture made from fruit juice, sugar, and sometimes pectin; the texture is tender but will be firm enough to hold its shape when turned out of its container. Jam is a thicker mixture of fruit, sugar (and sometimes pectin) that is cooked until the pieces of fruit are very soft and an almost formless puree. Preserves, made from fruit cooked with sugar and pectin, differ from jam in that the chunks of fruit are medium to large, rather than the texture of thick puree.

Marmalade is a preserve containing pieces of fruit rind, especially citrus fruit. The original marmalades were made from quince — the Portuguese word marmelada means "quince jam." Now, however, Seville oranges are the most popular fruit for making marmalade, in part because of their high pectin content.

These days, you can purchase Keiller's Dundee marmalade, in its oh-so-recognizable white ceramic jar, in specialty stores and most larger supermarkets. Keiller's dates back to 1797, when a Spanish ship carrying Seville oranges took refuge in the harbor town of Dundee, Scotland. James Keiller, a local grocer, purchased the cargo; his wife Janet boiled the oranges with sugar to make a tart orange marmalade.

There's always a jar of Dundee marmalade in my refrigerator. Not only is it delicious to eat, but, melted down with a teaspoon of water and put through a sieve, it makes a perfect glaze for fruit tarts. As an ingredient, marmalade finds its way into cakes and more cakes, tarts and more tarts, terrines and tea and cookies to have with your tea. Occasionally, too, marmalade enriches the sauce for a savory dish.

BEER MARINADE
A pantry lover's delight! From the ever-practical Joy of Cooking, this simple marinade for beef or pork would be great with flank steak, cooked under the broiler. Try it on jumbo shrimp, too. Makes 1-2/3 cups, enough for 3 pounds of meat.

1-1/2 cups flat beer
1 Tbsp dry mustard
1 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp salt
3 Tbsp soy sauce
1/8 tsp hot pepper sauce
2 Tbsp sugar or honey
1/4 cup orange marmalade
2 garlic cloves, minced

Combine all ingredients.

Bay leaves (Recipe: bay leaf crusted pork roast)

If it weren't for Apollo, and his frustrated libido, there would be no bay leaves in The Perfect Pantry.

According to mythology, Cupid, taunted by Apollo for childish behavior, exacted revenge by drawing from his quiver two arrows — a golden one for love, and a leaden one to repel love. He aimed the golden arrow at Apollo, and the other at the nymph Daphne, beautiful daughter of the river god Peneus.

Struck by Cupid's dart, Apollo lusted after Daphne, who, thanks to Cupid's trickery, couldn't stand the sight of any man and so made her father promise never to force her to marry. Apollo's desire drove him to pursue the nymph; he chased her, running faster and faster, threatening to overtake. And just when she was within his grasp, she called on her father: "Help me, Peneus! Open the earth to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger."

Immediately, her body became stiff and encased in bark, her hair turned to leaves, her feet to roots. Peneus had kept his word, and changed her into a bay laurel tree. Apollo — distraught, bewitched, and besotted — decreed that the leaves of the bay laurel would remain forever green. He wove leaves into a crown and wore it always; thus, a crown of bay leaves became a symbol of honor. And in honor of Apollo, laurel wreaths were presented to the victors at the first Olympics in 776 B.C., and they are given to marathon winners to this day.

Poor Apollo, but lucky us.

Most common in the pantry, and found in every kitchen pantry in every region of the world, dried Mediterranean bay leaves, from the Laurus nobilis tree, have a sweet and rich aroma, with very slight overtones of nutmeg and camphor. The leaves actually mellow as they dry; fresh leaves taste more bitter, and should be used sparingly.

The California bay leaf grows on a related tree, Umbellularia californica; the longer, slender leaves are most often used fresh. More potent than the Mediterranean leaves, they also contain umbellulone, which, according to the Field Guide to Herbs & Spices, can cause convulsive sneezing, headaches, and sinus irritation when inhaled deeply.

Bay leaves yield their flavor slowly, which explains their popularity in soups, stews, pickling brines, and marinades. A fundamental component of bouquet garni, bay leaves pair well with beef, poultry, fish, lamb, lentils, tomatoes, and beans. 

It's a personal preference, but I find the fresh California leaves too pungent; I'm partial to the smoother flavor of Turkish leaves for all uses. To string them on shish kabob skewers, soften dried leaves by soaking in warm water for 20-30 minutes. Dried bay leaves will keep for a year if stored in an airtight container away from heat. I buy large bags from Penzeys, and divide them among friends.

BAY LEAF CRUSTED PORK ROAST
This recipe, from Everyday Food magazine (December 2006), uses bay leaves as an actual ingredient rather than a toss-into-the-pot seasoning. A coating like this would work well on a turkey roulade, too. Serves 8.
    
8 garlic cloves, peeled
8 dried bay leaves
Coarse salt and ground pepper
4 medium onions, peeled (root ends left intact), each cut into 8 wedges
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 pork rib roast with 8 ribs (4 1/2 to 5 pounds), backbone removed, ribs Frenched (*see note, below)
2 cups fresh parsley leaves
1 cup Dijon mustard

Preheat oven to 375°F. Using a chef's knife, finely chop garlic and bay leaves together. Gather into a pile; sprinkle with 2 tsp coarse salt and 1/2 tsp ground pepper. Using the flat side of the knife blade, mash mixture into a paste. Set aside.

On a large rimmed baking sheet, toss onions with 2 Tbsp oil; season with salt and pepper. Push onions to the edges of baking sheet. Place pork in center of sheet, fatty side up; rub top with remaining oil, and press on garlic mixture, coating evenly.

Roast, dabbing occasionally with pan juices, until an instant-read thermometer inserted in center of meat (avoiding bones) registers 140°F (temperature will rise 10 to 15 degrees as roast rests), 65 to 75 minutes. (If browning too quickly, tent loosely with aluminum foil.) Transfer roast and onions to serving platter; let rest, loosely covered with foil, about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a food processor, blend parsley and mustard until smooth; season with salt and pepper.

Cut roast into chops, and serve with mustard sauce.

*Note: Ask the butcher to leave some fat on top of the pork to keep it moist during roasting, and, for easier carving afterward, to remove the chine bone (or backbone). For an elegant presentation, have the butcher "French" the rib bones, which means to scrape off the gristle and fat. 

Dry beans (Recipe: everything-from-the-pantry bean soup)

By nature and by habit, I am a decanter.

Not the kind with an hourglass figure (don't I wish?) and a cork stopper.

No, I am a person who decants almost everything in my pantry into clear jars so I can see how much of each item I have on hand. I've never been able to divine, just by looking at a box on the shelf, exactly how much sugar, or rice, or bulgur wheat, is left in the box. The smaller jars, mostly one-quart canning size, hold the things I use in smaller quantities: lentils, cocoa powder, arrowroot, table salt for baking. In medium jars, I keep various kinds of rice, and breakfast cereals. The large jars hold the basics: sugars, kosher salt, flours.

My favorite jars are what I call the amalgamators: the jar that holds leftover odds and ends of dry pasta, and the one that gathers dry beans. I only allow like-minded beans — those that cook in approximately the same time, or have the same texture or color — to cohabit. Today, my bean jar contains red kidneys and Anasazi beans, and a few navy beans hiding at the bottom. At other times, it might have cranberry beans, if I'm lucky enough to find them, or pink pintos. By the way, the United States is the world's leading producer of dry beans; I never knew that.

As kids, we were taught (by whom, I can't remember....): Beans, beans, good for your heart/The more you eat, the more you f***/ The more you f***, the better you feel/So eat your beans at every meal.

True?

Yes, indeed. Beans are good for your heart — rich in dietary fiber, potassium, folate, and iron, as well as complex carbs and protein.

It's also true that there are well-known consequences to eating beans at every meal. Beans contain enzymes that produce flatulence and, while it's said that the more often you eat beans, the more your body acclimates to the enzyme, it's an indisputable truth that the gas will escape from your body from time to time. You can mitigate the gas by changing the soaking or cooking water occasionally. Pouring off the water helps gets rid of the indigestible complex sugars that create gas in your intestine. And there's always Beano, for those who'd rather fight one enzyme with another.

Though adzuki beans do make an appearance in sweet Asian desserts, most beans go the savory route: cassoulet, bean salads, soup, chili, or rice and beans.

And if, like I do from time to time, you find some really old dry beans languishing at the rear of the pantry shelf, give them a second chance — they make fabulous pie weights.

EVERYTHING-FROM-THE-PANTRY BEAN SOUP
On a visit to New York many years ago, I was foraging in my friend Joyce's freezer (don't you do that when you're visiting??) and came across a container of something she called French Market Bean Soup. It was hearty and healthy, and I've modified her recipe a bit and made this soup often. This tastes best if made at least one day ahead — and  it freezes very well. Serve with a green salad and crusty bread. Make it a vegetarian dish by using vegetable stock, and eliminating the chicken and sausage. Serves 12, at least.

15 oz dried beans, a mix of red kidney, Great Northern, navy, Anasazi, or whatever's in your bean jar
1-1/2 quarts water
1-1/2 quarts chicken stock (homemade or low-sodium canned)
1/4 cup smoky barbeque sauce
1 bay leaf
1 Tbsp oregano
1/2 Tbsp thyme
28-oz can whole pear tomatoes, drained, seeded and roughly chopped
2 cups chopped onion
2 cups chopped celery
1 clove garlic, minced
Tabasco or other hot sauce, to taste
Black pepper, to taste
8 oz chopped chicken breast (optional)
8 oz sliced smoked sausage (optional)

Wash and pick over beans, and soak in water to cover for at least 2 hours or overnight. Drain. Place in a large stockpot, and add water, chicken stock, barbeque sauce, bay leaf, oregano and thyme. Simmer, covered, for 2-1/2 hours. Add tomato, onion, celery, garlic, Tabasco and pepper, and simmer, partially covered, for 1-1/2 hours. Add chicken and sausage, if desired, and simmer uncovered another 40-60 minutes.

Peppercorns (Recipe: Grandma's beef brisket)

With apologies to Sesame Street (go ahead and sing along — you know the tune):

Three of these things belong together,
Three of these things are kind of the same.
Can you guess which peppercorn is not a pepper,
Even though it has the same name?

If you guessed pink, you're a star! Black, white and green peppercorns are all fruit of the same plant (Piper nigrum), picked at different stages and processed in different ways. Pink peppercorns are the fruit of Schinus terebinthifolius, cultivated only since the 1980s.

Black peppercorns are full-sized, nearly ripe berries that are sun-dried. An enzyme contained in the pericarp (the outer layer) oxidizes, and turns them black. White peppercorns are the inner seed, with the pericarp soaked or rubbed off. Green peppercorns, full-sized but not yet ripe, are kept green (or unoxidized) by brining, or boiling and oven drying, or freeze-drying; this keeps the enzyme from oxidizing.

When comparing and selecting which peppercorn to use in cooking, consider two factors: aroma, and pungency. Black pepper has both, and plenty of it; white pepper, though pungent, has little aroma. Green peppercorns have a light aroma and pungency. And within each type of peppercorn, the quality of the flavor will vary, depending on where the pepper was grown, and the level of essential oil and piperine (an alkaloid) present.

Indian Malabar, considered the best quality black peppercorn, has a fruity aroma and clean bite. Tellicherry has the largest berries. Sarawak pepper from Malaysia has a milder aroma, but is hot and biting. Muntok, from Indonesia, is said to be the best white peppercorn.

Pepper loses its pungency and aroma fairly quickly when ground, so buy whole peppercorns and a good pepper mill. Stored in an airtight container (or in the freezer), peppercorns will keep for a year. In my pantry, I also do keep coarse-ground black pepper from Penzeys; a small amount goes in a jar on the spice rack, and the rest goes in the freezer. I use an eight-ounce bag every couple of months.

Neither sweet nor savory, pepper features in the cuisines of nearly every country and region. It's often used to bring out the flavor of other spices; try a little bit of black pepper in sorbet, and you'll really taste the fruit. Whole dishes like steak au poivre pay tribute to black peppercorns, and a few tossed into stew or soup stock (be sure to strain the stock after cooking) adds depth of flavor. Pepper dresses up vegetables, fish, chicken, venison, and sweets.

Unlike salt, which is essential to the body's survival, pepper is not a biological requirement, but it is a culinary necessity. Can you imagine cooking without it?

GRANDMA'S BEEF BRISKET
The original version of this recipe called for Manischewitz kosher wine, but it's too sweet for me. If you have time (and self-control), make this at least one day ahead, and store in an airtight container in the braising liquid to keep the meat moist. By the way, when I first published this recipe in the Ninecooks newsletter, my friend Fran challenged me to a brisket cook-off, my grandmother's recipe against hers. I'm pretty sure this recipe is a winner, especially if you like your brisket in sandwiches, with spicy mustard or horseradish sauce. Serves 8.

4-5 lb beef brisket, well trimmed of visible fat
Seasoned salt
2 Tbsp olive oil
3-4 enormous yellow onions, thickly sliced
1 bay leaf
12-15 black peppercorns
1 bottle dry red wine, or more

Rub meat all over with seasoned salt, and brown in an extremely hot frying pan (do not add any oil or fat to pan).  AT THE SAME TIME, in a large pot or casserole sauté the sliced onions in 2 Tbsp olive oil on low heat, until the onions are limp, but not brown, 15 minutes. Add to the onions the meat, bay leaf, peppercorns, wine, and enough water to just cover the meat. Cover and simmer for 3-1/2 to 4 hours, until meat almost falls apart.

Serve with latkes for a traditional Chanukah meal, or with garlic mashed potatoes.

Olive oil

A first for The Perfect Pantry: here's something that's not yet in my pantry, but can be in yours — a free* sample of artisan olive oil.

Now through Friday, December 15, follow this link to receive a free tasting box of olive oils. This lovely gift box sells for $39.50 on the Alejandro & Martin web site; this week they're offering it to readers of The Perfect Pantry for *shipping cost only.

When you follow the link, you'll reach a shopping cart. The amount in the cart should be $0.00, and there should be a promotion code in the box below. If the shopping cart does not show a promotion code, type the word "Ninecooks" (wiithout the quotation marks), and recalculate. [NOTE: Shipping to Rhode Island cost $8.38.]

Here's a bit of Alejandro & Martin philosophy, from their web site:

We believe that much of the world’s most satisfying foods are produced on small family farms in such limited quantities that they rarely make it to retail shelves here in the US. The very best is rarely mass-produced. Culinary traditions, regional cuisines and local climates create a bounty of olive oil experiences for us. Why blend the work of hundreds of producers into a single product for the sake of consistency - a dubious virtue. We say celebrate the diversity of tastes!

I'm curious. Will this oil be fruity or woodsy, delicate or viscous, assertive or barely noticeable? Maybe, just maybe, I'll fall in love — a really wonderful olive oil can make a girl go weak at the knees, after all. And I'm always open to adding new items to my pantry.

I'm going to try it. If you try it, let's compare notes.

Scallion pancakes (Recipe: scallion pancake pizza)

After a solid two weeks of baking and decorating cookies for Drop In and Decorate, the last thing I want to do is cook.

Thank goodness for a well-stocked pantry, and for frozen scallion pancakes.

Not what you'd think of as a pantry item? Well, if all you do with them is heat and serve, I'd have to agree, because my definition of a pantry item is one which is kept on hand for the purpose of creating something else. But scallion pancakes can be so much more than the appetizer you get in Chinese restaurants, served cut into wedges with a soy dipping sauce. They're easy to make from scratch, but even easier to buy and stash in the freezer.

Closely related to Navajo fry bread and sopapillas in taste and texture, scallion pancakes are made from a wheat dough, layered with sesame oil and chopped green onions. The trick is in the technique; the dough is rolled into a rope, then formed in a spiral and rolled flat. This creates a flaky bread which, when fried, is crispy on the outside and chewy in the center.

You can stuff scallion pancakes with a meat filling, use them as a wrap for stir-fry dishes, or make an Asian taco. Slice them into half-inch strips, fry, and add to dumpling soups. Or, open up the "pocket" (cut horizontally into thin layers), cut into wedges, deep fry to make "chips", and serve with mango chutney.

SCALLION PANCAKE PIZZA
Chef Joyce Costa, at The Gourmet Outlet in New Bedford, MA, invented this easy and unusual appetizer. You can also make it with cooked scallion pancakes from a Chinese restaurant; order takeout, and ask the restaurant not to cut the pancakes into wedges. Make as many or as few as you wish. One whole pancake serves 2, with a salad, for lunch, or makes 6 mini-pizza appetizers.

2 Yukon gold or red-skinned new potatoes, cut in 1/2-inch dice
Peanut oil
1 package scallion pancakes, defrosted
1/2 lb of your favorite bleu (or blue!) cheese

Place potatoes in a small sauce pan and cover with water by 1 inch. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until potatoes are fork-tender, approximately 12-15 minutes. Drain and set aside.

Meanwhile, fill a heavy skillet to a depth of 1/2 inch with peanut oil. Heat the oil, and one at a time, fry the scallion pancakes on both sides until lightly browned but still pliable. [NOTE: if you want to make mini-pizzas, cut out with a cookie cutter before frying.] Remove to a platter lined with paper towels, and drain.

Place cooked pancakes on a rimmed baking sheet. Top with potatoes, and sprinkle crumbled blue cheese on top. Place under the broiler until cheese is melted. Let cool for a minute or two, then slice into small wedges and serve hot or at room temperature.